A Note From The Assistant Editor In Chief....

Welcome to the 2099 UG's first Halloween One Shot!!!  This features two
stories of the supernatural, and we hope you enjoy them.  The first is a
"Life" like story by myself, and the second is a story that presents
Chris Burns' interpretation of Salem!!!  So, welcome to the first issue
of the Lost Tales of the 2099 UG, and maybe next Halloween we'll seen a
# 2!!!  Let us know what you think. . .by contacting me at
(grenville@kymtnnet.org). I'll be posting all comments under the
Ghostworks' news page!!!  Thank you!
______________________________________________________________________________

The 2099 UG Presents. . .A Halloween Special!
The Lost Tales of the 2099 UG, Volume # 1, Story # 1
"The God's Legacy"
Written and Created by: Jason Smith, "grenville@kymtnnet.org"
Edited by Jason Smith
______________________________________________________________________________

I
        The misty mountains of Luxembourg shone brilliantly in the hot,
burning sun.  The colors that radiated from the clouds were a
spectacular display of nature's beautiful design.  It was enough to make
the firmest of men shudder or even the coldest of hearts melt in a flow
of awe.  And this early dawn's array of breaking daylight was no
different to Seth Marx.
        Very few people can sit back and observe the ways of the world,
the force of nature, the behavior of our own kind and enjoy it.  To
truly appreciate the laws and properties of day to day live and come
back with a rewarding feeling of gratitude is an amazing feat and one
that should be studied so that all might learn this sacred art.  But
alas, only poets, and artists can assume this responsibility or even
bask in its gift.  There are a few others, such as a small group of
unknown variables in this experiment.
        These are the Unforgiven.  These are the Throw Backs, the
Shunned, the Lost, and the Lonely.  This group of lonely spectators was
the abandoned, social misfits of society.  They were the ones that were
cast out, the ones who were ostracized to the outskirts of humanity.
These outcasts also had the ability to appreciate life to it's fullest,
to relish the skill of nature.  They had nothing to live for except the
little moments, but unlike poets and artists they have no way to express
this beauty, to filter it to the lost slaves of commerce and merchant
compartments.  Perhaps that is why they are so easily forgotten . . . so
easily left out in such a discussion as this.  They have no way to
communicate through the still social currents.
        And that was what Seth Marx was doing.  He was admiring the view
through his high tower, perched atop the steepness of his manor.  He had
been cast out, and it was only in moments such as this that he was able
to forget his past, to battle and cage the swelling truth and disgust
regarding his current status.  And it was only when a cloud finally
began to flow into the path of brilliance that Marx looked up, and
returned to the dark confines of his dungeon-like laboratory.  As he sat
down to his book, he rubbed his eyes, and began to prepare himself for
more research.
        As he began to whisper the words of the ancient text to himself,
visions of his ultimate goals began to flow through his mind like water
springing forth from a leak.  As he began to become engrossed in the
reading the information poured into his mind and flooded him . . .
whisking away any emotion or sense of time.  His eyes began to silently
parade from word to word as he worked his way through sentences,
paragraphs, and even chapters.  Finally his mind came to fault with a
sharp pain in his abdomen.  He was hungry.  He hardly felt that such an
interruption was necessary, but there was no reason to continue on if he
wouldn't be able to fully concentrate on the work at hand.  He gently
closed the book, marking his page with an aged piece of paper, which
beheld a large rune.  Dust flew from the force of the closing pages, as
he got to his feet, grabbing a lit candle to make his way down the long
and winding steps.  They worked their way down to the main household.
As he stepped out into the hall, the sun light from open windows burned
into his eyes, temporarily blinding him.  He looked around, and found
that he was still alone.

II

        The cheerful shouts of children playing could usually be heard
in the marketplace of Craigend.  This was just one of the many sounds
which happily polluted this time forsaken town.  It was a diamond in the
rough, a city that had practically been forged from the values and
society of yesteryear.  It was a treasure in the industry ridden world,
and many were unaware of its presence.  But, those who lived here
relished their secrecy and they shunned that which they didn't
understand.
        The carts rolled lazily over the pebble cobblestones of the
town's roads.  They shimmered in the sun, as the trinkets, and other
goods caught the people's eyes.  Business was booming as usual.  It
wasn't rare to see the odd stranger here and there to collect some sort
of antique piece.  In fact, this was encouraged.  It was a constant
battle between keeping the town's heritage safe, and exploiting
themselves, therefore they began to grow stagnant and no one prospered.
 But, for the citizens of Craigend, a delicate balance had been reached,
and they were happy.  It was those who wanted something more who were
ostracized . . . people like Seth Marx.
        His interest in the mysticism of the world caused quite an
uproar in the city, and it didn't take long for him to be banished into
the mountains, becoming an involuntary hermit.  He lived alone, and
midwives told their children horrible stories about the old man who
worshiped the dead on the mountain.  They called him Seth the Silent,
for he had never shown his face within the boundaries of Craigend since
his exile.  He had found what he was looking for in the confines of his
books, and ancient texts, but as the years grew by, he became lonelier.
 And as his depression and loneliness grew, so did the stories.  They
were now so exaggerated that he could hardly risk the journey to the
city.
        But today was different indeed.  The sounds of children playing,
and carts bringing their produce to the crafty, shifty eyed salesman
were absent.  The streets were dead, and the normal cheer of the
populace was nowhere to be found.  It was as if someone had locked the
excitement and eagerness of everyday life in a trunk, making sure to
hide it from the prying eyes of those outsiders who usually found their
way into the midst of the Town Square.  But today no carts, shops, or
outsiders could be seen on the deserted roadways of this aged jewel.
Craigend was
dead.III
        Marx looked over the valley with a stone expression.  After all
of this time he was finally ready to advance in his studies.  He had
been practicing, and reading, the texts to ensure his every command was
just right.  He had even gone out to prepare his specimen the night
before.  His school of magic was very precise.
        Yes, that was bizarre to admit, but in truth he was no more than
a mere wizard.  This was what he thought, although a wizard in this day
and time is hardly anything to laugh about.  These Lost Arts are
something passed down from generation to generation, and he was lucky to
pick up
so fast, especially with the absence of a teacher.  But, this wasn't
what had caused to become ridiculed and exiled.  It was his school of
magic that had been his undoing.  Necromancy was the most dreaded of
magic arts, and that was what he had been drawn to.
        He often pondered the reasoning behind his interest in the dead,
but always came up empty.  He really couldn't provide a definitive
answer. Was he warped?  Was he deranged?  He didn't think so, but the
people of Craigend certainly did.  But the thing that drove Marx mad was
the fact that perhaps he had finally proven them right.
        No, he would not allow himself to think that way.  His actions
the previous night had been more than justified.  The people of Craigend
owed him, and it was time to collect his reward.  Last night's journey
to the outskirts of Craigend had been the first time he had laid eyes on
another for about a decade.  Looking at another was intoxicating.  Now,
one might ask, was killing the poor girl wrong?  Marx didn't think so.
She was going to die sooner or later that was for sure.  But when and
why wasn't up to him.  He had no right to play God, he thought.  But
wasn't that what he had been doing all along?  Wasn't that the whole
purpose behind his interest in necromancy?  Deep down he knew it was,
but he could never allow himself to acknowledge such truth.
        He had killed the girl for his first trial attempt at bringing
forth the death.  Giving life to those who had been stripped of it.  And
in this process he had taken the role of God, giving life to those he
wished, and taking also.  There had to be a balance, he convinced
himself.  And in convincing himself of this sadistic theory, he had
truly taken away any semblance of guilt.  It was his right, the city of
Craigend owed it to him, and he was merely collecting his payment.
Besides, wouldn't they thank him later when he could bring forth lost
family and friends?  Who wouldn't be happy to be able to embrace those
who were previously mourned for?  It was his for the giving once he
completed this first reanimation.
        He had gone out to take this young lady's life to ensure that he
was able to bring her back in all her former glory.  It would be harder
to bring back one who had been deceased for a prolonged amount of time,
but bringing back a recent stranger to the dead would be increasingly
easy. He only bided his time now.  He would let them have their
funerals, and petty festivities.  He was going to wait until they had
buried the girl and then he would go and claim his rightful prize.
        "I'm not doing this for myself," he said aloud.  Alas, there was
no one there to convince, and it was a wasted effort on him as well.

IV
        The family and friends of Aliyssa LeMaistre gathered around the
wooden coffin which now represented their harsh reality.  Her mother
burst out into tears as the priest slowly tossed some soil onto the
coffin.  The words, "Dust to dust, ashes to ashes," echoed in their ears
as their tears and cries escalated.  They would later be comforted and
cared for by their neighbors in the town of Craigend, for they took good
care of their own.  Finally, the priest led the family away from the
grim scene as the undertakers began to shovel the unforgiving dirt into
the deep pit which would become her home.

V
        As the stars began to shine down upon the cemetery Seth made his
way out from the bushy undergrowth, and fell to his knees at Aliyssa's
grave.  He began to dig at the loose dirt with his fingers, frantically
trying to get to her.  Finally, he stopped, and went in search of a
shovel.  It wasn't long before he came across one, and made his way back
to the site to reclaim her lost body the right way.  Sweat dripped down
his impatient brow as the moon highlighted his every move.
        The memories of his night spent digging eluded him, but he was
more than happy to find himself at his manor the next morning. . .with
Aliyssa's body by his side.  He had no interest in her personally, but
he couldn't help but staring at her cold body.  She wasn't disfigured,
or any such complications.  He had been careful to simply drown her
without struggle.  He even pulled her back up onto the banks so the
villagers could find her later.  He would let them continue to live
their lives in simplicity for as long as possible.  Then he would share
his gifts with them.
        He slowly caressed her hair as thoughts of her walking about
filled his head.  He hadn't slept in days and it was starting to take
it's toll.  But he paid it no mind.  He had all of his things gathered
around her.  He was prepared, but he thought it best to wait until
nightfall.  Then, thoughts of horror seized him, causing him to shack
with awe.  If he waited too late the process could be deformed or more
difficult to achieve.  No, he thought, now was the time.

VI
        The air inside the dark basement was stale and the chill crept
into the depth of his bones.  He was wearing a long red cloak which
covered his dismal clothes.  The only light barely escaped into the
night and cast a frightening shadow over the eerie scene.  Seth Marx had
been preparing for this ceremony ever since his interest in the secret
art of necromancy had escalated from curiosity to action.  The time had
come and he was ready. . .he had been for as long as he could remember.
        "It won't be long now," he whispered to no one in particular.
        He quickly stood and began to loom over the corpse of his first
experiment.  He obsessed over each minute detail as if it would affect
the outcome.  A painter could not have described or detailed the scene
any better than his simple actions.  He leaned over smoothing out the
fresh garments on the young lady's body.  He sprawled her flowing hair
out onto her shoulders, taking only a second to brush it with his long
fingers.  He held a piece and sighed in anticipation.  Finally, after
positioning every candle in a perfect pyramid formation he leaned over
and casually kissed her cold forehead.
                He began mumbling long forgotten words under his breath,
calling to gods who had been lost in the spiraling hints of yesterday's
history. The dialect of his tongue crossed the generations of it's last
use as if he had been plucked from those ancient times and placed in the
present with a mysterious ease.  As he said the words over and over he
began to say them louder as if gathering his confidence and strength.
The words captivated him and he exclaimed them so that all could hear.
He lost touch with the situation at hand and was hypnotized by the
vision of still body before him.  He had forgotten the next step, but as
long as the words were fresh in his mind. . .he knew that he was going
to be okay.
                Finally, he remembered the task at hand and although he
didn't stop repeating the words, he did move on to the next step.  He
leaned over and grasped an ancient knife.  He was trembling with
excitement.  He stroked the knife in his hands, turning it over and
observing it in the shallow light of the melting candles.  And as if
waking up from a dream he held both arms out, parallel to each other,
over the body of his first deceased servant.
                He placed the sharp edge on the soft white skin just
below his palm. . .the skin that covered his veins.  He pressed into the
fleshy exterior and quickly slashed away the epidermis, exposing the
once blue veins to the cold night air.  Crimson life sprang forth from
the fresh cut,
covering the knife, and flowing down upon the body of LeMaistre.
                He did it again, making the blood poor unmercifully from
his exposed wrist.  He held it over her face, and watched joyfully as
the blood dripped down into the corpse's dry mouth.  The still wind of
the basement seemed to blow in unison with his leaping emotions.  He
stood wild eyed above her, with the wind whipping his hair about.  As he
looked down upon her he exclaimed the last part of his mystical
incantation, "Chi azi chotic zar que terias!"
                He stood back watching her body for any signs of
movement as the blood continued to flow to the stone ground, forming a
puddle at his feet.  His spirits began to dwindle as the blood began to
dry on her face.  What went wrong, he thought to himself.  But, as his
doubt began to
consume him the incantation took hold of the corpse's spirit.  He
watched in amazement as her eyes began to shudder.  He could envision
her spirit being beckoned from the depths of the grave.
                Finally, her eyes flew open and his heart erupted.  The
girl didn't look around, but slowly sat up without noticing her
surroundings.  Then, she turned, gaining her balance on the cold ground.
 Seth watched on in quiet desperation.  Finally, he fell to his knees
before her.  He
grasped her hand, holding it to his face, rubbing his cheek against the
pale flesh of the undead.
                Tears swelled in his eyes as he looked at her and
whispered, "Legacy."

VII
        Months have passed and little has changed in the town of
Craigend.  The family of Aliyssa LeMaistre has gently overcame the shock
of her sudden death, as the neighbors continue to gossip about the exact
nature of her death.  Many wondered if it was an act of aggression, or
perhaps a crime of passion. . .but, although things rarely change in the
city, the Marx Manor doesn't always follow suit.  So, perhaps those who
claim the death of the young Aliyssa LeMaistre was one of passion. .
.aren't entirely wrong.
        Seth stood with his arms folded.  He was feeling something that
he hadn't experienced in many years.  A feeling of satisfaction and
happiness had overwhelmed him as he watched the movements of Legacy.
Yes, he had renamed her.  She had experienced a moment of rebirth, he
thought, and she was no longer one of the human flock.  She was one of
the Blessed.  One of his own, he thought smugly.  He continued to smile
as she clumsily moved about the living quarters cleaning up things which
were never disturbed in the first place.
        To an outside observer, it would appear as if Legacy was nothing
more than an animated zombie that moved about for her master's
amusement.  That wouldn't be far from the truth.  Through the process of
reanimating the body of Legacy, and the shock of having someone there to
love had greatly confused Seth the Silent.  His fractured mind had been
blown apart at the thought of having someone to embrace. . .thoughts of
not being alone.  And his thoughts projected and determined what the
mindless corpse he had dubbed Legacy would do.  But, of course, he never
admitted this to himself in the broken down landscape of the mind.
        He walked over toward his deceased love, and held out his hand.
 Slowly, the corpse responded by holding out her hand as well.  Her
blank eyes stared into the void. . .looking at nothing in particular.
She had no soul to fulfill. . .no desires for she couldn't think.  She
was empty.  Her only role in life was now to provide false adoration for
her master, and husband, Seth Marx.  Her head slowly turned to him, not
looking at him, but looking through him.  Her eyes had sunk back into
her eyes, and she always had the expression of looking up into the air.
 This was just one of the many details that Seth had driven out of his
mind.  He had even made himself forget the smell coming from his love,
the smell of rotting flesh, which was now causing animals to scratch and
beg at the door.  He was blind in her presence.
        He rubbed her hair in his fingers, and leaned forward, kissing
Legacy on the lips.  The fact that these were the first pair of lips he
had ever tasted was totally lost on him.  Did all kisses taste of
spoiled flesh?  He didn't think of it long, nor did he think of the
absence of her kissing back.  He held her tight, her arms hanging limply
to her side, and he whispered in her ear, "Oh, what's wrong, Legacy,
dear?  Are you lonely while I'm up in the study!?  You know I can't let
you up there!  No, no, no, my love!  Not while I'm working.  Perhaps
it's time we started a family?  Would you like that?  I bet you would!
All mothers need someone to care for.  Now, don't you worry about a
thing. . .I know just the thing.  You're talking to a Creator here!  One
who can pull life from the darkness of the ground!  One who can give
life where there is none!  But, I shouldn't go on. . .you know all that,
don't you, love?  Well, I'll see what I can do."
        And with that disturbing scene, which was not the first, nor the
last, Seth leapt to his feet with a big, toothy grin.  It was time for
the God to play!

VIII
        The wind howled as if signifying the supernatural events to
come.  Seth had waited all his life for a family to call his own.
Immense clouds stalked and swallowed the silent moon as he made his way
through the maze of oak trees and vines.  He no longer scurried through
the underbrush of Luxembourg like a frightened outcast.  Now he walked
toward the distant town of Craigend with his head held high.
        The last few months had scratched deeply into him. . .as if the
infinite winds of time had overtaken him and catapulted him ahead of
everyone else.  His long, shaggy hair had streaks of grey that hadn't
existed in the past.  His face had various wrinkles which looked foreign
in his image.  He was aged beyond his years.  The dark blue robes
wrapped around him as the wind grew more fierce.  His dark undergarments
made him blend in with the night's surroundings.
        As he walked by a tree, he held out his hand.  The tree's wilted
leaves began to dance in the night air and rebloom as if springing to
life a second time.  This was no illusion, he thought.  The dying tree
now stood tall, surpassing it's former glory.  Life is mine, he thought.
        "I am Life.  And yet I am Death as well," he said aloud. .
.faintly trembling at the sound of his own voice.
        He turned toward the bumbling figure of Legacy behind him.  His
first gift from the grave, his lover, was stumbling through the forest.
 He chuckled and said, "Come, Legacy.  Your Lord demands it."
        Finally, he stumbled into familiar surroundings.  As the moon
revealed the sadistic necromancer wolves began to herald his triumphant
return.  He had arrived at the Craigend cemetery, his Holy Land.  The
wind blew through the trees, creating an eerie chorus to augment the
scene in which he was now playing.  He looked toward the tombstones,
attempting to decide which person he should unearth, and bring back to
the land of the living.  "It is my decision," he said.
        He quickly walked over toward a tombstone, his feet moving under
his robes as if he were floating over the cold ground.  He stopped
before it, looking at it with a careful eye.
        "Friedreich Montes," he whispered.  "Well, Legacy, we've found
your son!  I shall bring forth a son to share our family name!  We shall
never need one to carry on the family name, for we will all live
forever!  But, you are lonely.  I shall present this gift to you."
        Legacy looked to the sky, not paying attention to Seth, who was
now quite mad.  He walked behind the tombstone, caressing it with his
rough hands.  He leaned over toward the concrete earth. . .and in all
it's condensed glory, it began to explode in a drizzle of dirt and
debris.  A bloated hand began to reach out of the grave, as if being
beckoned by Seth.  The necromancer was growing more powerful each day,
as if his first ritual had endowed him with a power once lost to men.
He grinned unmercifully at the rotting corpse of a small boy.  He began
to laugh loudly, as if unable to control himself.  He began to weep
madly as he watched the ignorant zombie boy stumble around the
graveyard.
        "You have been dead for to long, my child.  What have I done to
you?"
        Then, he looked over at Legacy, who was also acting demented.
She was rolling around on the ground and panting loudly.  "What have I
done," Seth bellowed.  "Your condition presses your mother over the
edge!  How could you do this to her!?"
        Seth was unaware that the corpses were merely reacting to his
own distorted thoughts.  He ran over to his "son" and pushed him to the
ground.  The boy began to moan aloud in agony. . .Seth's agony.  Marx
began to kick the boy with all of his might.  Tears were streaming from
his eyes as he continued to grind his feet into the broken body's ribs.
 He heard the sickening crack of brittle bones, but continued to smash
into the deceased boy.  The wolves began to howl louder, as they made
their way to the cemetery grounds.  He ignored the faint glow of light
coming from the town, and the angry murmurs of recently waked men.
        Finally, he smashed his boot into the boy's face with a
disgusting crunch, and he stood there with his fists clenched as the boy
ceased to move.  He had not killed the reanimated body, but that facet
of his mind had violently shut down.  As he stood there, the wind began
to blow even harder, and the trees were screaming in their mysterious
whisper.  He slowly turned, as the glow of the torches finally caught
his eye.  He slowly turned to them. . .and waited.
        He stood in the midst of the dead, a beaten corpse at his feet.
 The crowd of men stopped once they were just inside the gate.  What
they saw was a sight indeed.  As the jaws dropped, one of the men also
lost his grip on his torch. . .and no one paid attention as bounced away
in the silence of the moment.  Finally, one of the men began to stamp it
out, breaking the silence and causing the men to take another, rational
look.
        Seth's eyes narrowed, and the wind blew with a fierce gust of
emphasis on the torches, of which most blew out.  The moon was the
dominate force, casting it's shadow over Marx, illuminating him before
the city's men.  The wolves were singing their carnivorous song as they
strolled up behind Marx, causing the scene to become even more
intimidating.
        "Who are you," asked one of the men.
        "I am God," he uttered, his long hair flying in an unbridled
frenzy.
        "It's Seth the Silent," someone shouted.  "And he's killed a
child!"
        The angry group of men began to come toward Seth, looking down
upon the beaten body in disgust.  In the dark night they couldn't tell
that the body had been dead for years.  As they approached him, he let
out a heavy sigh, and the earth began to tremble.  Tombstones began to
burst and scatter everywhere, as did the hard, unforgiving ground.
Fleshy hands, bloated arms, and brittle skeletons made their way to the
surface.  The men stopped as they watched their long dead loved ones
crawl from the confines of the grave.  The bodies fell to the side,
withering in the agony that was Seth's.  Marx's eyes narrowed as he
watched them approach him.  He had gone quite over the edge. . .but, his
grasp on reality was sufficient enough to realize that he was in danger.

IX
        Seth scattered up the hill leading to Marx Manor.  The wind no
longer howled with the delight that it once did, as Seth's confidence
began to wither away into obscurity.  He could hear the legion of shouts
behind him. . .they were calling for him.  They were hunting him down
like some kind of wild animal.  That's what they intended to do. .
.return him to the wild.  Introduce him to the concept he loved so much.
. .death.
        He ran into his house, and memories of himself and Legacy
flashed through his mind.  What had they done to her, he thought.  He
pushed open the door, causing the great oak to crack as it burst against
the old stone walls.  He scrambled up the steps to his study, as if he
could save himself there. All the while he muttered to himself, "I am
God.  I know it.  I give Life!  I take Life!  It is mine to provide!"
        Once he arrived at the top of the tower, he collapsed before the
window that he had once stared out. . .admiring nature, not trying to
control it.  He could hear the shouts echo through the hall as they made
their way up the stairs.  The light cast off of the walls, and reflected
in his black eyes.  He knew that they were coming for him.  He stood,
clenching his fists.  He wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't
anymore.  The fire reminded him of the flames of Hell.  He had always
heard such stories as a child.  Was he being judged now?  Who had that
right, he asked himself.  He was God.
        As they gathered in the room before him, he held his head up
high. . .the flames still flickering in his black eyes.  His voice was
loud and commanding.  The men stopped to hear what he had to say. .
.although they could anticipate dragging him back to Craigend.
        "No matter what you say or why you rebel against your Lord, I am
a God, and I control destiny.  It is I who chooses those that die or
live. . .not you heretics.  So it is my decision that I shall die, not
yours.  If I choose to live, I smite you all.  It is a difficult
decision, even for a God, such as I.  But, my decision is just.  Go to
you wives and children."
        And with that, he whisked away, his robe overtaking the flames
of the torches, and leapt to the seal of the window that he had once
gazed from.  And he gazed again.
        In a moment's time he had taken in the entire scene, and it was
the last thing he saw.  As he found nothing but air under his feet, he
could envision the night sky, with the moon smiling down upon him. .
.blessing him.  He could see the gentle, rolling mountains, the gentle
fog rolling about the valleys of Luxembourg.  He was content.
        But, right before he hit the ground, the very ground that he had
called the dead from, a single thought flashed through his mind.  "To
whom do gods pray", he asked.

X
        The men of Craigend had done what they set out to do. . .they
had returned the necromancer, Seth Marx, to the wild in which he had
been cast.  And as the wolves cried sorrowfully, they made their way to
his body in a funeral march.  And as they sat next to him, his eyelid
faintly moved. . .and the wolves began to howl in praise.

******************************************************************************
And now. . .another Lost Tale from 2099 UG writer, Chris Burns.  This
one is his work on the mystical character from the 2099 UG UNLIMITED
known as Salem.  Let us know what you think by sending comments to
(grenville@kymtnnet.org) and (Khrisbab@aol.com). Enjoy!
******************************************************************************

______________________________________________________________________________
The 2099 Underground Presents. . .A Halloween Special!
The Lost Tales of the 2099 UG Volume # 1, Story # 2
Words and Characters by Chris Burns, "Khrisbab@aol.com"
Edited by Jason Smith, "grenville@kymtnnet.org"
Salem created by Jason Smith
______________________________________________________________________________

A flash of light in a dark alley.
     A startled rat scurries away.
     Salem inhales deeply of the chill night air as the glow fades from
the Staff of Asgard. As his lungs fill, he wonders how many nights of
his crusade have begun this way. The local breeze is crisp and steady.
It's whispering howl carries with it the promise of dark secrets and
adventure. Shadow clouds dance across the harvest moon as the thunder
rolls across the plains.
     Instinctively he pulls his cloak about him as a shield against the
elements, then smiles at his folly. One such as he need not worry overly
about such things, that is one of the few benefits of his birthright.
     Salem walks to the edge of the alley and takes in his surroundings.
The small city of Grenville hardly seems worth his notice. His initial
research revealed the people of Grenville to be a backward lot. They use
next to no technology, choosing instead to live a simple life out here
on the plains, free of the corporate yoke. They have moved in and
assumed ownership of an abandoned city of the twencen, and repaired it
with their bare hands. It has remained largely unknown for several
years, but that has changed of late.
     Several weeks ago, a mega corp began to move in to claim untapped
resources in the area and demanded that Grenville be sold to them. The
denizens refused so the corporation decided a little muscle was in
order. However, once the leg breakers arrived they ran afoul one of the
city's defenders.
     The creature they faced was a primal force and it tore into the
corporate lackeys with claws that extended from it's backhands. It
called itself a "Canuckle-head" and fought with fury on behalf of the
city. The few survivors of the encounter could report only it's
fierceness, it's carrion smell, and it's cadaverous pallor. Upon hearing
this report, Salem suspected the undead and felt he should investigate.
     Now visible from the street, Salem begins to draw some attention
from the few people out at this hour. Although he usually prefers to act
more secretly he thought it best in this instance to meet the locals. It
did not take long, as soon all traffic on the street is gone save a trio
who walk toward him. They get within about 10 yards and stop.
     The centermost figure appears to be the leader and speaks first. "
If you are here to cause trouble for us you can go back and tell your
bosses that this city is protected by the dead of the Heroic Age! "
     Salem looks around, practically ignoring them, and inhales deeply.
"That is a very bold claim sir."
     " Nevertheless, stranger, it is the truth. We've proven that once
already to you cowardly thieves."
     The man's words have no effect on Salem... he is too smart for
that. " You misread my intentions. I am here for my own reasons."
     " You are not welcome here."
     Salem grumbles to himself, "...like I'm ever welcome."
     " What is that stranger?"
     Salem recovers quickly. " Nothing. You have said I am not
welcome... well I do not intend to leave until my business here is done.
Do you object enough to my presence here to initiate a physical
confrontation?"
     The three men look to each other then back to him. " We prefer you
leave peacefully but if you are a threat to our families we will fight
to the last man."
     Salem stands there at the moment of truth and see the determination
on the faces of the trio before him. He grudgingly admits they impress
him by there bravery but pities their collective stupidity. Salem would
not maliciously harm them but if they interfere or try to harm him he
would remove them without remorse. Just when it seems at if the meeting
is coming to a head, something happens.
     " He is no threat to us, Goram."
     Four pairs of eyes turn to see the newcomer as she exits the
shadows behind Salem. When she first arrived Salem had been startled by
the fact he did not sense her approach, but as he looks upon her
youthful form he admits the surprise has become a pleasant one. She
walks to within the lantern light with a long coat pulled tightly around
her. Her manner seems oddly seductive to Salem as her auburn hair dances
with the wind. When his own eyes rise to that level, Salem looks into
her green eyes and looses himself in them.
     The man she called Goram rushes to put himself between Salem and
the woman. " Mother Dalvas! You should have remained hidden until we
determined what threat this stranger represents."
     This youthful sprite looks barely old enough to be a mother of any
sort, but as she smiles and pushes past her protector he bows his head
in deference of her authority. With confidence and grace she walks
within a handsbreath of Salem and looks up at him with her green eyes
that nearly make him melt. " We have no reason to fear this stranger
Goram," she says without taking her eyes from Salem's own. " He too is a
hero..." she giggles, "... of a sort."
     Then with a fierceness that belies her size, Mother Dalvas grabs
two fists full of Salem's hair through his mask, then pulls him very
near to her. Salem is shocked into inaction as her cheek touches his
own. She whispers into his ear and he can feel her hot breath. " We need
no new heroes, we have our own."
     Her tactic catches Salem off guard. The nearness of her body makes
his own react. His heart quickens, his breathing becomes erratic! He
knows she is a creature of passion and power but instead of pushing her
away, he reaches up to return the embrace. Teasingly she giggles and
bites at where she estimates where his ear should be beneath the mask
and shoves him away.
     " Leave stranger," she commands. " We don't need you here."
     Salem knows he was just manipulated and his willingness to allow it
frustrates him. His retort is short and angry. " I'll determine if I am
needed or not."
     " Very well, then follow me and I will help you speed that
determination." She turns to the three men. " Return home... you have
much to prepare."
     Goram and the others look from Salem, to Mother Dalvas, to the
ground. " Yes Mother Dalvas."
     She nods and walks away into the heart of the city. Smiling beneath
his mask, Salem follows.

**********************************************************************

     She had led him to a large building that she explained was once a
church. As the spiritual guide for the city, she calls the place home.
Salem was at first reluctant but her easy manner and radiant beauty soon
loosens his paranoia. Within the hour they are talking and laughing in
her living room. He has not laughed in a very long time. The
conversation is light and enjoyable, and Salem finds that he likes
Mother Dalvas' company.
     He also, over the course of the hour, determined that she displayed
many items in her home that radiated mystic energies. He is shocked
therefore to find that she herself radiated none.
     Finally the woman before him sighs and a look of sadness comes over
her face. When Salem notices she forces a smile. " I am wasting valuable
time here with you. I suppose I should get to the point. I know who you
are... or rather WHAT you are. I know this puts you at a disadvantage so
to even the balance I will reveal a little about myself. I am a mutant.
Overall my powers are overly useless, but of late have seen much use. I
have the ability to see the history and weaknesses of unnatural or
mystical creatures. I knew from the moment you entered Grenville, what
you are."
     Salem looks away, uncomfortable in his shame. She gently lays a
hand on his shoulder. " You have no reason for fear or shame Salem.
Remember that I have seen your history and there is no shame in being
the seed of a Grigori."
     That catches him up short... Grigori? This crazy mutant thinks he
is the son of a grigori! HA! The grigori were the angels at the dawn of
genesis, fallen rouges of the sundering of Heaven. They were not heavy
enough with sin to crash through the earth to the burning abyss below
with their dark brethren. They were the sons of God that knew the
daughters of men, and eventually these beings sired divine hybrids. Is
it possible that he has been wrong about his birthright all these years?
     Salem looks up. " If you know my history then you must surely know
that of the dead heroes. Tell me."
     She sits back as the light from the fireplace sparkles in her eyes.
" No. You are misguided in your crusade Salem, and I'll not betray our
only means of defense... not even for the seed of a grigori."
     " What right do you have to judge my crusade as shocking misguided?
And quit calling me the seed of Grigori! You don't know what you are
talking about. You wouldn't want to know. I wish what you said was true
but it just can't be. My father was a monster, and I am tainted by his
blood... not blessed by it."
     " I know your struggle, your self doubts, your fear. Salem you are
a living oxymoron, a contradiction. You are a supernatural creature
affecting his world by vowing no supernatural creature will ever affect
his world... explain that too me Salem."
     Her words hit a little too close to home but he would never admit
it. He stands cutting the conversation short. " Thank you for the
conversation Mother Dalvas."
     She has a soft look as their eyes meet again. " I hope you find
your peace hero."
     His heart aches as he sees her there. She understands him. No
judgement, no excuses, just pure understanding. He curses as tears well
up behind the mask. His heart is about to burst. She has opened so many
new mysteries. What he would have done in the next moment, had fate not
been so cruel, we will never know... for at that moment an alarm sounds.
     " Damn!" is all she says as she runs out of he home, leaving Salem
alone with his personal demons.

*********************************************************************
     
     Within a few moments Salem had composed himself sufficiently to
join Mother Dalvas in the city. She had gained quite a lead and in a
city as large as Grenville she is lost to him. He exits the old church
and sees his fears confirmed. The city is under attack by the
Independant corp that tried to move in last month!
     The air is filled with about a dozen air assault copters and they
take turns spewing liquid light down on the populas. There are ground
troops also in support of armored land vehicles that are beginning to
round up prisoners. Above the den of battle an amplified voice rings
out...
     " PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS! RESISTANCE WILL BE MET WITH LETHAL FORCE!
THIS CITY IS NOW THE PROPERTY OF THE ALCHEMAX CORPORATION... PUT DOWN
YOUR WEAPONS..."
      This repeats over and over, but still the city's denizens fight.
Salem is impressed by this show of bravery and decides he will help
these people if he can... that does not include throwing his life away
such as it is. The first step is to find the leadership of the people,
which just happens to be Mother Dalvas.
     He looses himself in the shadows and grins as he pulls out a
bracelet. It is exquisitely beautiful and valuable... which is precisely
why he stole it from Mother Dalvas when she embraced him. He had planned
to sell it later, but uses it now in the casting of a spell instead. "
I'm sure she will forgive me now."
     He entwines the bracelet in a very exacting pattern on his left
hand and begins a mystical choreography that began to pull to him the
universal energies that bind all life together. Once he has tapped that
energy he focuses on the residual aura upon the bracelet once worn by
Mother Dalvas and begins to try to locate her location by using the
bracelet as a compass. Once the spell is complete he begins to run to
his destiny.

**********************************************************************

     It takes him a few moments to arrive for he had to travel to the
heart of the city, but when Salem gets there he is angered at the
carnage. The independant corp really does not care about the value of
life here... Salem does not care overly for individuals himself, but
slaughter on such a grand scale angers him. It makes him wonder why he
risks his life daily against the supernatural as defender of a dimension
that both fears and hates him ( that sounds familiar somehow), when all
they do with the chance he bought is try to destroy it and each other.
Are they really worth the saving?
     In the next instant his question is answered for him. Mother
Dalvas, leading a band of the city's denizens, surround a small group of
children... ready to give their lives to give their children the future
they deserve. Salem grabs the Staff of Asgard and prepares to join the
fray when a tank commander changes targets. Laughing, the commander
fires at the base of a building beside the small group of defenders. By
the time Salem is at full sprint the building begins to topple toward
the defenders! " Shock NO!" yells Salem " Don't let me be too late!"
     Seeing that she could not get all the children to run free in time,
Mother Dalvas stops and begins to grab them and throw them clear of the
rubble zone. She can't throw them all by the time the rubble begins to
hit the ground so she covers the remaining three children with her own
body. Salem's heart aches again... she had called him a hero but she
possesses a genuine heroism. She says a silent prayer and waits for the
end....
     .... but it never comes. She looks up to see Salem standing over
her and the children, holding up a portion of the building that had
threatened to crush them. The great slab he holds back should have
snapped his back like a twig but still his muscles tense and his body
shakes. through gritted teeth he growls as his feet begin to loose
traction in the soft dirt..." Get, ugh, OUT!"
     Mother Dalvas has always been a woman of action and knows she has
been granted another chance at life... she runs, dragging the 3 children
with her as their parents rush to meet them. Salem looks over his
shoulder to make sure she gets clear of the rubble zone so he can
release his burden and let death claim him. The children run ahead, but
just before She gets clear, Mother Dalvas is hit by an energy weapon
wielded by the same tank commander who laughs as she falls.
     Salem yells out and about lets go of the great weight, but some how
holds on. The evil man kicks Dalvas' prone form and begins to saunter
over to Salem. " Well... what have we here?" he asks this question as he
picks up the Staff of Asgard that was at Salem's feet. " This is a
really nice stick." The man pokes Salem in the ribs.
     " I heard that there would be Meta humans defending the burg, but
you ain't shown me shocking glitch!" The commander swings the Staff of
Asgard at Salem' ribs. It connects with a loud thud. Salem feels ribs
break.
     The commander raises the staff like a baseball bat and prepares to
swing again! " So you are the shocking city's defender huh?" The staff
swings through the air and again hits but this time with a different
sound, as if metal hitting stone. Salem never feels the blow.
     " No! I am the city's defender!"
     Salem hazards a glance and sees a great hulking brute of a man with
a orange, rock hard hide with several large chunks missing. It holds the
business end of the staff mere inches from Salem's ribs as it speaks to
the commander again..." And I'm tired of you Fancy street corporate
rejects hasslin my friends. ITS CLOBBERING TIME!!!!"
     The backhand sends the villain flying a full city block. The great
creature walks over next to Salem as he falls to his knees under the
great weight. The brute put it's great strength under the building and
lifts the burden off Salem as if it was a plaything. Salem looks up,
strength slowly returning to his fatigued muscles and can smell the
carrion stench. As he suspected... the heroes of this city are undead! "
I gotta go mix it up with these corporate lackeys stranger. Get the lady
to safety and come on back... the world could always use another hero."
     The great creature tosses the building to the side and runs off
into the dust filled streets to join the battle anew. Salem crawls over
to claim his staff from where the creature dropped it and then moves
over to Mother Dalvas...once there he begins to twirl the staff. Soon
they are both gone.

********************************************************************

     Salem sets Mother Dalvas up against a tree outside of town on a
rolling hill overlooking Grenville. He extracts a clear vial from his
utility belt and gently begins to trickle it into her barely open mouth.
He gently brushes her hair from her face, her eyes still closed in
unconsciousness. He knows the healing potion will soon take effect and
he needs to find the undead creatures without her interference. We
whispers softly as he returns her bracelet. " Forgive me."
     The he stands and begins to run back toward Grenville.

********************************************************************

     As Salem reenters the city he sees that the tide of battle has
changed. All around lie the masses of corporate soldiers and their tools
of destruction... now useless. The crisp air now choked with smoke is
illuminated by the countless small fire all around.
     As he had suspected, one of his quarry stands among the rubble,
victorious. This moment is why he came. Salem walks into the light and
sees the victor standing atop a mech, garbed in red, white, and blue.
The creature turns at Salem's approach and adjusts it's circular shield
on it's left arm.
     " Are you friend or foe?" It asks.
     Salem is surprised the creature does not attack on sight. " I
haven't decided yet."
     The creature nods and says " Well do you mind if I help the wounded
while you decide?" Salem does not respond so the being puts it's shield
on it's back and begins to help the wounded... both Grenvillians and
corporate lackeys alike.
     Salem sneers and says, " Why help the corporate lackeys? They would
have left you to die in the streets."
     The creature looks up with eyes that no longer see. " Because I am
a hero. Our kind does what we must because it is right. I don't like
what my country has become, or what it stands for today. Times may
change but heroism never will."
     Hoping to regain some edge Salem walks within an arms length of the
creature. He nearly chokes on the stench. " I came here to destroy you
undead abominations."
     The carrion-creature smiles. " We are legends, death has never
destroyed a legend. So, have you decided? Are you friend or Foe?"
     For long seconds Salem stands there gripping the Staff of Asgard,
undecided. His quest demands this creature be destroyed. His ethics
demand he walk away. This moment, like every other in his life dares him
to choose between his dual natures.
     He looks away, unsure of what to do, and sees Mother Dalvas running
toward them and stop when their eyes meet. Her eyes plead with him to
deny his crusade. Finally his mind is made up. He turns back to the
undead monstrosity and says
     " Friend."
     The undead creature holds out it's hand and smiles. Salem takes the
hand and inhales a deep breath. He hears Mother Dalvas scream as he
pulls the parody of the American dream close. The creature's eyes widen
as the blessed dagger finds it's unbeating heart. " But I can't make any
exceptions. I'm sorry."
     Mother Dalvas' tear filled eyes are the last thing he sees before
he vanishes.

THE STATS PAGE
Here it is again... that enigmatic stats page! This time it is Mother
Dalvas! Let me know if you want more of the Dead Heroes and Mother
Dalvas in Grenville! My address is Khrisbab@aol.com !!!!!! Also if you
like Salem... tell the creator (and AEIC of the UG!).

MOTHER DALVAS 2099
Real Name Marie Dalvas / Status is active
Stats reflect stats upon her appearance in Lost Tales of the 2099 UG
(one shot)

CATEGORIES

Mutant (Random), My Creation, Powers are Maturity.

STATISTICS

                                             FIGHTING           III(TY6)
Minimal training or natural ability (Vindicator)
     AGILITY            III(TY6) Normal human reactions (Mr. Fantastic)
STRENGTH                III(TY6) Press up to 200 lbs. ( Dr. Strange, Sue
Storm)
ENDURANCE       III(TY6)Occasional excercise (Normal humans)
REASON          IV(GD10) Repair current technology (Captain America)
INTUITION               IV(GD10) Above average intuition ( Human Torch)
PSYCHE          V(EX20) Some experience with mental control (Beast)

     HEALTH             24
KARMA           40
RESOURCES       PR
POPULARITY      10

TALENTS
1.Bibliophile:
2.Scholar of Antiquities:

CONTACTS
1.Broken Link 2099
2. Salem 2099

EQIPMENT:
Unrevealed! Salem saw many items in her possesion that radiated majic.

WEAKNESSES
1.normal human weaknesses.

POWERS
1.Mystical Empathy:X ( UN100)
She has the rank X(UN) ability to sense the presence and type of any
mystical being within 1 mile of her location. Within 1 area she will
know the being's name. Upon touch... she knows the being's history (rank
X feat to know anything specific about the creature's history) and the
typical weakness of the form (if any...ie. Sunlight to vampires)

2. Mystical Invisibility: X (UN100)
She has the ability to remain completely undetectable by any mystical
creature at will. This power is negated if she touches the creature, for
1-10 turns.

RUNNING THE CHARACTER
She is a very young woman of 20 who at the age of 13 became the
spiritual leader of Grenville. She is wise and passionate beyond here
years. Although she does not run the city... all defer to her authority.